Summer
by Bunnirabbit
Summary: While Bruno and Boots are separated for the summer, Boots works as a life guard and comes to terms with some facts about himself, mainly that he may be in love with his best friend.
1. Chapter 1

The summer before the year that would end up going down in Hall history as the Wizzle War, was a peculiar one for Melvin P. O'neil. The previous year had been far more strange, if you looked only at the events that transpired, but the summer felt even stranger. MacDonald Hall was a sort of alternate reality to Boots. Summer and breaks existed in a hazy fog. They were so much slower, yet infinitely more stressful than the months spent at the Hall. And of course there was no Bruno.

That was precisely the problem. Boots was a separate person from Bruno, of course. Bruno was all charm, charisma, and untapped potential. Boots was much more rational and reasonable, not to mention slightly more athletic and scholarly. He supposed, that when you compared the two, he was rather boring. But that didn't matter, did it, because Diane had chosen him.

That was the other problem. Bruno had built him a pool, Diane had kissed his cheek and smiled sweetly while the smell of chlorine surrounded them.

And so, as Boots packed up his room to head back to his province for the summer, he was thinking of Diane. He was thinking of her smarts, her ingenuity, and he was wondering, why him? It seemed like Diane would have been better suited to someone more...well, less like Boots, they both had a shared experience, of dealing with their respective counter parts, but... that's it. Boots had always thought that his first girlfriend would be a little different. He expected a crush to feel a little bit more strong. It wasn't as if he didn't think that Diane was pretty, it was that it didn't matter. He wanted to be Diane's friend, he didn't mind kissing her (it was nice, she had soft lips and smooth skin, but it didn't exactly _do it_ for him), but the idea of being her boyfriend-the sappy dates, the romantic commitment-it scared him. Not in a 'I'm nervous about this girl I like' way, but in a 'I have no romantic attraction to her, oh god, am I leading her on?' way.

So when Bruno asked Boots what he was thinking about, he answered "Diane". Bruno's nose scrunched up for a moment.

"I'm happy for you guys. A perfect example of the union between a MacDonald Hall boy and a Scrimmage girl. I think I can do something with this. Maybe some inter- school activities next year?" Bruno says.

"I didn't mean it like that," Boots answers, rolling up one of his posters.

"Ohhhh, were you think something a little more PG-13?" Bruno says. He's wiggling his eyebrows and Boots thinks he looks slightly deranged.

"No!"

"R? Melvin P. O'Neil!"

"NO!"

"X? Jesus Christ!"

"Bruno! I was just wondering why..." Boots trails off, still slightly embarrassed by Bruno's accusations.

"Wondering about what?" Bruno has stopped the admittedly pathetic job he was doing at folding his shirts. Boots sits down heavily on his mattress. Bruno takes this as his cue to come and sit next to him. Bruno looks at him expectantly. Boots sighs.

"I don't understand why she wants to be with me," Boots says. "Or what she even wants from me," he continues.

"Obviously she wants to be your boyfriend because she thinks you're totally awesome!" Bruno says with an enthusiastic slap to Boot's back. Bruno has misinterpreted his concerns, but Boots supposes it's for the best. He has no idea how to put what he's feeling into words. He likes Diane, he really does, but he just cannot accept that this is what love, or even a small crush

Boots doesn't worry that Bruno would laugh at him. He trusts Bruno more than that, it's just, it's the last day of school, they're about to go their separate ways, and Boots doesn't want to try to explain something this complicated, this dense, and dampen their already slightly mournful moods. Not to mention, everything is a bombshell to Bruno.

Leaving the Hall is always a sad experience. Boots doubts that he'll see Bruno at all. He feels like he becomes a different person at home, and it's not the person he wants to be. He wants to be an intellectual, but he wants to have fun. That's how he's decided to define his ideal Melvin P. O'Neil. He has that at the Hall. He's never bored, and he actually gets to go to classes where he learns something. At home, the focus is on sports. If Boots isn't at a summer league, he's doing conditioning, weight training, or eating disgustingly healthy meals. There's no real spirit, no tradition that needs to be upheld because no one even considers that theres anything else, thus the transition are simply routines that they hopelessly fall into. A tradition is the Fish reading Shakespeare to all the english classes. Tradition is competing with the York turkeys. Tradition is committees and planning and the gong.

Boots can only hope that he can get a summer job, or something like it to save him from endless runs and constant talk of protein. To do anything that would jeopardize Bruno's communications to him during the summer just isn't worth it, and there's no reason to give Bruno things to worry about. When Bruno is worried, Bruno plans, and when Bruno plans, Boots gets in trouble.

And he doesn't want to seem _weird._ Weird, like gay. It's not that Boots thinks being gay is weird, it's that it seems like everyone else does. He's seen it a million times, on the sports teams he's on, he sees the wary distance that most guys afford to the gay guys on a team. No one says anything, it's just the slight hesitation some guys have, before they go in for the hug, or the slight angling of a naked body. It's subtle, of course, because it's not overt homophobia, it's just the learned fear of something they do not understand. He wonders why he's always so aware of it. It shouldn't affect him personally. Sure, he's the captain of a few teams, but it's not like he can tell a bunch of jocks to go unlearn their implicit biases. He's doesn't think he's seen it at MacDonald Hall, but that might just be his own wishful thinking. The point is, is that when another guy thinks you're gay, they think you're weird, and the smallest things change, but at the same time everything changes. Boots doesn't want a single thing to change with him and Bruno though. He doesn't think he could handle that. So he stays silent. Bruno takes his silence as a need for a longer pep talk, but Boots tunes his friend out. He needs to think about what to say to Diane.

"You should just text her," Boots hears Bruno say.

"Yeah, I should," Bruno looks slightly surprised to hear Boots listen to his advice, but only for a moment before he molds his face into a self satisfied smile.

"I give great advice," Bruno declares, "Now help me fold these shirts to repay me," Boots takes pity on his roommate, who's clothes and bedding should really have been packed several days ago. All Boots has left are a few posters and photos from the year still stuck up on his walls.

"We need some music," Bruno suggests.

"Bruno, we are not listening to any death metal," Bruno looks ready to interrupt, but Boots continues "or punk, or speed metal, or pop punk, or really any of that music," Bruno looks slightly deflated, but still plugs his phone into their shared speaker, courtesy of a secret santa in which Elmer crafted a sound system far nicer than two teenager would ever need. Boots some starting chords that sound dangerously rock-y. He's about to protest, but he hear Avril Lavigne's voice and sees Bruno start to lip synch. Nope, he's out right belting the lyrics to Sk8er Boi. Boots sighs happily.

"I'm not going to miss this over the summer," he says, but both boys know that it's a lie.

* * *

Boots' parents arrive before Bruno's, sweeping him away with little time to say good bye. Bruno is on his best behavior, a winning, face splitting smile sitting on his lips. He looks charming, but Mr. and Mrs. O'Neil are not impressed. They haul Boots' bags down the stairs while Bruno tries to be ass helpful as possible without actually doing anything. Boots is starting to fear that he'll have no time with Bruno before he's wicked off to a summer full of parental expectations and interrogations about his life at boarding school.

When their house counselor intercepts the elder O'Neils, Bruno and Boots steal a few minutes. Bruno engulfs Boots in a tight hug, with plenty of firm back slapping.

"Write to me," Bruno says, into Boots' ear.

"I have your number, you know. We text a fair amount," Boots says teasingly. He knows how much Bruno likes the idea of the tradition of letter writing. He's heard many tirades that include the phrase 'it's the principle of the writing'. Boots sees the novelty, but Bruno has rather messy hand writing and they both get impatient. Usually, they resort to emails between letters.

"You know what I mean!" Bruno scoffs.

"Don't worry, Melvin P. O'Neil knows how to write a letter," Boots assures Bruno, pulling away from the hug. He can see his parents power walking towards them, and he knows Bruno can too. But Bruno isn't looking towards them. He's looking Boots square in the eyes.

"Write. I'm serious. I want an email every day and at least 6 letters," If it was anyone else, Boots would say they sounded like a petulant child, but coming from Bruno, it sounds like a plan.

"Bruno Walton, I promise that you will receive no fewer then six letters and frequent emails," Boots pledges, hand raised in a pantomime of a Boy Scout. Bruno scoffs, but then Boots' parents are pulling him away, and he has to turn and walk to their car.

* * *

The car ride home is rather dull. His parents put on a constant loop of yacht rock, with a few jock hits from their days as collage athletes. It's so different from the alt rock station that Bruno and Boots usually compromise on when they play music on their crappy dorm radio. He believes that it must have belonged to a Hall boy or a Scrimmage girl, but that it was seized during the great yard sale fundraiser. He's pretty confident in this belief, as it did appear in their room around the time, but with how messy Bruno's things can get, it could've just been hiding under a large pile of dirty laundry all this time.

Boots gets a head start on his summer reading, but he finishes all the books he has with him before the car ride is up and he's bored. He could enter his parents' conversation, they're talking about the local little league hockey team for which his dad coaches. Boots was on that team when he was younger. The idea of joining in repulses him though. It's not that he doesn't like his parents-he loves them and they've always been good to him, or that he would have trouble finding something to say, it's just that he's feeling the loss of the Hall right now. He feels like a wild animal that has suddenly been brought into captivity. He has to reset himself, turn into the most charming, helpful, and impressive version of himself. He's a bit of a golden boy in his neighborhood. His parents know everyone, so everyone knows Boots. Everyone knows Melvin. It's not as if he's in some American teen movie where he's the star quarterback and the town is counting on him to win the big game. It's just that everyone thinks oddly high of him. When he comes home to visit, everyone wants to come see him, ask him about the colleges he'll get into, about what extracurriculars he does. They ooh and ahh, but Boots wishes they wouldn't.

He feels like he's deceiving them. With a few small omissions, it sounds like many of Bruno's impromptu revolutions are great clubs, and he does have the position of swim team captain, and he loves MacDonald Hall, but it still seems like they think so much of him. There's so much he isn't telling them, like how he almost gave up on the school and the people that had given him so much, or about how much time he spends in the principle's office, or the fact that he doesn't like the perfectly lovely girl who kissed him on the cheek.

So, confronted with the realities of speaking to his parents and ending the Hall's slowly fading spell, or clinging on to it, Boots pulls out his phone. He clicks the little green button and scrolls to Diane's name. They'd been texting a fair amount, not about anything in particular, just making each other laugh and recounting the tales of their counterparts' wild plans.

'Hi' Boots types, but he erases it almost instantly.

'I don't want to date you' he tries, but that's clearly a terrible idea. Boots takes a deep breath. He wants to make this perfect. Well, as perfect as something like this can be.

'Diane, I'm not exactly sure what that kiss was for, and I'm not exactly sure if you want more, but I don't' he hates the rhyming, but he thinks the phrasing isn't terrible. 'You're my friend, one of my best ones, and I like it that way. I really hope I haven't offended you, and I'm going to be mortified if this was all a misunderstanding, but yeah.'

He finishes the text and presses enter before he can think twice and make a more rational decision. Boots tries to breath deeply, but the yacht rock is suffocating him and the anxiety is building, burning his stomach and throat. His phone buzzes, and it feel like he's going to burst.

'You're to sweet'

Boots doesn't know how to respond.

'Friends?'

Boots has to stop himself from making an audible noise of relief.

'Yes, please' he answers.

'Can we FaceTime later?' She asks. Boots wonders what this will lead to, but this has gone so much better then the had hoped. He owned what ever Diane wanted to her.

'Of course'

For some reason, this feels like the end of the fantastical cloud MacDonald Hall casts. He musters up the strength to begin a conversation. He's still vibrating from the fear of his short exchange with Diane, not to mention, he has no idea what they're going to talk about. They've FaceTimed before, but everything that was familiar territory to them is now tinged with a peculiar anxiety to Boots. He doesn't understand why he can't just _like_ Diane. She's lovely. He and Diane could go out and then Bruno and Cathy could mellow out and date and they could get married and live side by side and send their kids to the Hall and Scrimmage respectively. It could've been perfect. Logically, Boots knows this would never work out, but in his head it sounds so picture perfect.

But its never going to happen. Boots couldn't even fake an attraction to Diane for a month. He doubts that he could do it for years. He figures he should find someone, but none of the other Scrimmage girls have ever interested him. He's always been too busy for things like dating, at least that's what he tells himself. That must be the explanation, because Boots is a normal guy, he wants a future with things like relationships, kissing, and sex. It's just never been the right time, the right girl, he figures.

Sometimes Boots wishes there was someone to talk to about this. He probably could talk to Bruno about this, but he kinda gets the feeling that Bruno was hoping for the same kind of picture perfect future that Boots has lost confidence in. Bruno is the type of guy that hates to change tradition, and the biggest tradition of all is Bruno and Boots and Cathy and Diane. Boots doesn't want to disappoint Bruno, so he doesn't tell him about this. He can't exactly talk to any of the other guys about this. He's good friends with all of them, he's been through thick and thin with all of them, but when it comes down to it, it's him and Bruno. And he can't even muster up the courage to speak to his parents about summer plans, so it's a given that he'll never be able to talk to either of them about this, ever.

"Melvin, sweet heart, have you thought about any summer plans?" He mom asks, breaking his train of thought. The question may seem innocuous enough, but 16 years have taught Boots that when his mom asks questions like this, she has a specific answer in mind.

"I was thinking about trying to find a summer job," Boots suggest cautiously. It seems that this was the answer his mother was looking for though, as her face lights up.

"I was hoping you would say that! My friend, Tracie, you know her, she has a nephew your age. Well, that nephew is working at a summer camp this summer. I was thinking, why don't you get a job as a life guard there? I already checked and they have some open life guarding positions!" His mom exclaims. Bruno does know Tracie's nephew. His name was, is, Jason. He was in the grade above Bruno when they were in middle school. He had also been the captain of the swim team and the student council president when Boots had been in the 6th grade. Basically, Boots had wanted to be him. He remembers the time Tracie brought him over once when she was at their house for book club or something. Boots was star stuck. They swam in the pool for a while before retiring to Boots' room, talking for a bit as they worked on homework and played computer games on the desktop that Boots had been graced with.

"Sounds great, Mom," he tells her.

"The certification should be easy for you," Boot's dad chimes in. Boots nods confidently. He may not have beaten the York swim team, but he's sure of his swimming abilities, and he enjoys swimming. It gives him a rush. He doubts he'll actually get to do much swimming as life guard, but he figures that working with kids can't be harder than dealing with Bruno. And he'll get paid, which is always a plus. Boots doesn't exactly have much to spend money on. The Hall has a uniform and his parents buy him the few clothes and other necessities he needs, but he's always glad to have a rainy day fund, just in case one of Bruno's plans goes horribly wrong.

"What do I need to do to sign up?" Boots asks his mom, hoping to bring his parents back on track, before they start talking about his swimming talents and completely derail the conversation. Funnily enough, he's looking forward to this. He's eager. Bruno has ruined him, made it so that he can't stand to spend his time idly anymore. It makes him antsy now. He almost turns to his side to complain to Bruno about this, before he remembers that Bruno is no longer glued to his side. Boarding school is peculiar, in that it forces you to be more independent, but it also makes you incredibly codependent. Boots feels at a loss, without the people that understand everything about him. It is nearly impossible to explain things that happen at school, without the context of the atmosphere at MacDonald Hall. It is _wholly_ impossible to explain anything about school to his parents. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to keep them from going on about swimming. So, he tries again. And again. On his fourth try, he finally manages to extract them from their discussion.

"Mom! Do I have to do anything to get the job?" he almost shouts.

"Boots, don't raise your voice! We're all in the same car, I can hear you if you use a normal voice,"

"Do I need to do anything to get the job?" Boots asks again, returning to his normal voice, though slightly exasperated.

"Oh no, I already told them you'd do it," His mother says cheerily. Boots should've figured. It isn't that his mom knows him well enough to predict his decisions, it's that she never really gives Boots a choice. That, and the fact that Boots is terrified of disappointing his parents and will do pretty much what ever they tell him to. He likes to hope that he's a good son and he doesn't want that to change. "You start on Sunday," his Mom tells him. It's currently Friday.

"Ok," Boots replies, because was else can he say. He's grateful for the chance, but he would also be grateful for advice notice. He's gotten used to Bruno never giving him any warning, and he wonders why he still hates it when his parents do the same thing, though he should be more used to his parents. Maybe its just Bruno's charm.

* * *

Boot's father helps him haul his bags up to his room, thankfully not repainted again, as his mom heads out on a bike ride to the grocery store. The store is 30 miles away. Boots is athletic, but his parents are ridiculous. 60 miles, half with a weeks worth of groceries? Boots would never willingly do that. Meanwhile, his Father is possibly trying to make him, laugh or possible just flexing. Boots laughs, quietly just to be safe. It seems he made the right choice, as his dad amps up the flexing and begins wiggling his eyebrows. Boots is close to hysterics for some reason, and his father isn't even that funny. There's something about finally being back in his room, being out of the stifling environment of his parent's car, out of the strange world that exists on the highway between the Hall and home. His dad puts him in a light head lock, rubbing his hair.

"Good to have you home Melvin,"

"It's good to be home Dad," Boots replies. He thinks he means it too. As his father leaves, Boots thinks that this summer will be better than the previous. He can't explain why, in this moment he's so convinced of this, but something about not instantly feeling out of place in is own home bodes well. He misses the Hall, but the prospect of a summer job, of seeing an old not-quite friend, has consumed him. Again, he's not sure why, but he's just relived. Hopefully it will make missing Bruno more bearable than the previous summer when he sat in his room and missed Bruno, when he swam and missed Bruno, when he took long showers just to have something to do and missed Bruno.

Boots often wonders what he'll do when he and Bruno will inevitably have to go their separate ways, once they have girlfriends and jobs and maybe even kids. If he can barely handle a summer without his best friend, what will he do when there is no Hall to return to, no shared room filled with each of their stuff that, over time, becomes collectively know as 'our stuff'.

Boots thinks this all as he unpacks the recently re-seperated half of Bruno and Boot's 'our stuff' that had originally been his. His parents house no longer feels like home the way it did when he was younger. Somehow, the Hall has become more of a home to him, so it feels weird to place the items that he can usually identify by their spot in his and Bruno's dorm into new, strange places. There is also a distance lack of Bruno. His summers, Boots thinks, are pathetically lonely.

And so, like any sane person, Boots neglects his unpacking and starts his first email to Bruno.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Bruno,

As I say every year, this is ridiculous and we should just text. Despite this, as it happens every year, I begin my first email to you. I should start by saying 'how are you?', but that's redundant. I know how you are at this point. Right now, I'd guess you're still in the car and you and your whole family are probably singing along to the radio, loudly. You'll stop and get tortillas and tacos soon, and you'll get home just in time for a late dinner and a kids movie with your whole family.

I on the other hand, will be alone in my room after an early dinner of chicken and steamed broccoli. I know, I know, you'll say I'm being emo, but you've got so many people, its practically like being in a dorm. I've got me, me, me.

Enough about that though. I think I might just make some friends this summer. You've got competition Bruno. I might not be able to spend every waking moment with you on the mind. My mother has set up a summer job for me. I'm going to be a camp counselor! (that is indeed meant to be tinged with the sarcasm I'm sure you read it with). Bruno, I am not as good with kids as I'm sure it may seem from my lovely demeanor and the few interactions I've had with your younger family members. I am in fact slightly scared of children. Theres something about them. They're like you Bruno, they say everything and anything on their mind. They get way to into little things, but as soon as they're bored, they just move right on down the line to obsess over something new. They have entirely to much energy and its never focused on the right thing, and far worse than you, they have no idea of social customs so they are impossible to control. Bruno, I am stressed.

This guy I went to elementary school with is apparently a counselor there. When I was in elementary school, he was my idol. He was the student council president. He was in the grade above me and literally all I wanted was to be his friend, but he moved up to our junior high, and I went to the Hall. I wonder what he's like now? Well, seems I'll find out pretty soon.

I texted Diane. I told her I just wanted to be friends. She just said that I was sweet and that she was fine with being friends. Or at least it seems like she's fine with being friends. I don't know Bruno. I feel like she should be the perfect girl for me, right? She's smart, she's rational, she's funny, she's driven. All amazing qualities. All qualities I like in a person. Yet, I don't like her like that. I don't want to kiss her, or do... anything else. But it's not just that. I don't even have an interest in being romantic i guess? Like, taking her on a date, giving her flowers, planning surprises. It just doesn't click. I just don't want to stop being friends.

Anyways, this whole email has just been me being self absorbed and whiny. So, tell me, whats going on deep in the mind of Bruno Walton?

yours truly,

Boots P. O'Neil

* * *

Dear Boots,

You're a regular sherlock holmes now aren't you? Got me all figured out? I'll have you know that we did not watch one, but two movies and neither of them were specifically kid's movies. I'll bet that knocked you down a few pegs. Also, way to drop some bombs on my O'Neil! I had no idea that you didn't even want to be with her. I can sort of see it though, cause when I've pictured you together (not in a creepy way), I just can't picture as romantic, just like you said. I mean, you guys chilling in sweat pants, just watching swimming matches or something (whatever nerds like you guys do), maybe doing kinda nice things to for each other, like getting each other coffee or something. Little things like friends do, not big things like partners do. So I get it. Still, you could have at least told me! I have to admit, I'm a bit relieved. Not that I don't want you dating! But, I was just thinking about much more time we'd have to spend sneaking into Scrimmage. You know I don't exactly have a problem with it, but it's simply a means to plot. A useless sneak, well, I wasn't so sure about that. I would have done it for you, of course, but its a risk. And what would I have done? I don't exactly see me and Kathy becoming great friends. We're simply perfect as nemesis. Seems like you've got a real man crush on this guy at your new job. What's his name and face? Anyways, back to me. I have been doing, quite probably, much better than you in the past few hours since we have left our esteemed Hall. The closest thing to being emo I have been is some slight yearning for the Hall and our lovely room. Yet, I do enjoy my home life. I know how yours is, and I know how its not ideal, but Boots, I promise you, this summer is gonna be different. I can feel it. In my BONES. You've got a job, maybe your and Diane's little stint will give you some confidence. You will own this summer my man! I, on the other hand, will enjoy a peaceful summer watching my younger siblings (the twins have become menaces). I will also be working part time at my local Publix, enjoying my first stint in the minimum wage job all of my elementary school teachers liked to say I was headed for. Not quite as romantic, glamorous, or traditional as a summer camp counselor, but I think there is a sort of suburban, rough skater boy feel to working at Publix. It would work a lot better if I lived in California, but oh well. I might just re do some of my old piercings. How would you feel about me reverting back to our first meeting? Sexy bad boy Bruno might just come on back. Don't go back to first year Boots though. I don't think I could handle you introducing yourself to other people our age as Melvin. That would just be too much. Anyways, I miss you, and I can't wait to see you again.

Godspeed,

Bruno Walton


	3. Chapter 3

Boots lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was so bland, a matte eggshell color, with white siding. It wasn't as if his and Bruno's room at the hall was neon green, but at the hall, if Boots had complained that the room was lackluster, Bruno would act immediately, plastering the walls and ceiling with posters, photos, even magazine clippings. Bruno would never let a room remain dull, even with his mere presence in a room, Bruno could make the place look filled. Boots wished he had the ability to fill a room like that. Then, maybe, his summer wouldn't feel so empty.

Boots contemplated writing his first letter to Bruno. In order to write our six, evenly spaced, letters, Boots would need to write two letters a month. With the postage time, that mean that he should write a letter every week or so, then send it off. Or at least, that's how Boots figured it. Bruno could decide at any time to send a barrage of letters, or send them off evenly spaced. Boots sighed, audibly though there was no one to hear his melancholy. He figured that he should wait for Bruno's first letter, then move from there.

He could call Diane, as promised, but he was tired. Diane deserved him at his fullest, or at least at a place where he could pretend to his fullest. And, he wasn't so sure how he felt about her seeing him like this. This, meaning, well Boots wasn't exactly sure what 'this' was. His literary brain wanted to describe 'this' as a state of yearning, but the teenage boy part of his brain said that that was ridiculous. The part of his brain filled with self doubt told him that he didn't deserve those words–that his silly summer ruminating, his teenage angst, lying on his blue bedsheets, in his bland childhood room–were not worth the same words used by the greats. He tried to ignore that sharp, vicious, part of himself.

It was the same part that reared it's head whenever he thought too much, about his family, his future, his capabilities to make something of himself, whatever that meant. Yet, here it was, appearing as he thought about Bruno and Diane, and what ever related them within his mind. He figured that it was best not to think to much on this.

Boots swung himself into a sitting position, taking a deep breath. He had found, in his sixteen years as the child of his parent's, that if he numbed his mind, it would be easier–to get through dinners and everyday conversations. Boots didn't want to consider himself in league with the elitist assholes the frequented most boarding schools, but his parents, his town, they didn't hold the spark that so many of his friends from The Hall did. It wasn't as if they were full on stupid, his parents could speak on the things that interested them, like running and proper nutrition, it was just that everything they said was a regurgitation.

Bruno spent his time inventing new ways to do the oldest tricks in the book. His mind moved too quickly to regurgitate. He had no reason to, not when he'd made himself into a powerhouse of charisma. If Boots believed in God, he would say that Bruno had been blessed, but he knew better. He had _seen_ Bruno evolve. Boots wondered if the way he thought about Bruno was psychotic. Talking about Bruno's evolution, talking about his powers of human connection. Bruno isn't a manipulator, and Boots would never see him like that. Bruno was, not pure, but earnest. Bruno was full of pure restless energy, to be sure, but he wasn't _pure._

That was good though, Boots figured. Bruno could never be who he was, could never be as well liked or as charming, without his lack of purity. Purity was a gross thought, an odd idea, but Boots was no longer at MacDonald, he couldn't wahf Boots' thoughts trapped inside of his head, until he could write a letter to Bruno, send off all of his thoughts, without a chance to take back any of his words.

Letter writing, in a way, was the easiest form of communication. As much as Boots bitched about Bruno's insistence on writing letter throughout the summer, a secret part of him loved it. Boots didn't write letters like a victorian poet, he didn't write and rewrite, he hardly ever crossed out lines or words he didn't like. In many ways, his letters were freer than any other communication that he participated in. Even when Boots talked, he almost always took his time, thought out each and every word that came out of his mouth. It was why people would say he was quiet. Bruno said every word that went through his mind out loud, whereas Boots said maybe a 16th of the things that ran through his head.

Only when he was very, very tired, running off of the pure adrenaline of being awake did he speak freely. The first time Bruno heard him like this, his face had lit up in pure joy. Boots had been embarrassed, at the continuous stream of words that flew straight rom his mind into the air around him. Bruno had loved it, had loved hearing the content of Boots' mind. It had warmed Boots, created a slow burn in the depths of his stomach, that someone as _wonderful_ as Bruno was so happy to hear all of the silly little things that someone as _plain_ as Boots thought. It was the same feeling that Boots got, years ago when Jason had congratulated him on getting into the Hall.

"Melvin!" His father's loud voice rang from the kitchen, an equally bland and uninspiring room, which, Boots was willing to bet money, contained an equally bland meal. Standing from his hunched sitting position on the end of his bed, Boots stretched, taking his time, stalling. At the Hall, he and Bruno were always rushing to meals, other friends in tow, talking loudly, someone yelling about an injustice from the day, someone else talking about what might be for dinner, what they might do later that night. There was never any time for Boots to sit on his bed letting his back strain. Rarely did Boots even ever want to sit like this. He considered himself an introvert, but somehow sharing a room with Bruno, who was perhaps one of the most extroverted people in the world didn't put a strain on him. It was as easy as being by himself.

Boots took the stairs slowly, listening to the hum of the radio and his parents' voices. He remembers being a young child, watching them run together, cook together, dance in the kitchen when an old favorite came on. There were many things that Boots didn't like about his family, but his parents had always had a remarkable relationship. They had other friends, of course, but they were each other's _partners_ , even if they were two of the most boring people that Boots had ever met. He'd have had to be blind not to see that. He grew up in this house, he grew up in _their_ house. He was surrounded by their overwhelming love of each other, by the idea that a _partner_ was the only one that could sustain him, and Boots already had a partner, but that _partner_ wasn't the right person. Bruno _couldn't_ be the right person.

"Honey, would you like broccoli or carrots with your chicken?" Boots' mom asked him, smiling from behind the kitchen counter where she and Boots' father stood, at the shiny oven they had gotten two years ago. The oven of Boots' childhood, an old gas oven, that made a loud banging noise when it heated up in the cold of their kitchen was long gone, in favor of this newer, sleeker model.

"Are the carrots cooked?" Boots asked.

"No, don't worry honey I know how much you hate cooked carrots," His mother answered pleasantly.

"you used to love 'em when you were a baby, and now look!" Boots' father laughed. Boots smiled back, nodding. He felt a pang, wishing for the wild plots that usually gave him half a migraine that flew around his dinner table at the Hall.

"So, tell us about you year!" His mother enthused, his father nodding along with her. How to explain an entire year, to his mother and father, no less, was an unanswerable question.

"Well, I read a lot," Boots answered, hoping that that would dissuade his mother and father from any deep probing into his life at the hall. He didn't want them to be a part of that, he wanted the hall to remain his oasis, his garden filled with spirit.

They smiled at him, open, but not engaged. He breathed, feeling the cool rush of panic recede, leaving him able to speak to keep himself in check.

"So, what have you all been doing in the prodigal son's absence, " He asked, a half smile spread across his face. His parents loved to e able to say that the was smart, that he could reference things like Shakespeare, and so, he made sure to infuse his parent proof persona with an appropriate amount of accessible academia. He hated this, hated the feeling that he needed to keep up a persona here. Home confined him. He wanted to be at the Hall again, where there was no need for him to play any type of role. He could be himself, or come as close to being what he thought was that.

There where pressures at school, sure. His grades stressed him out, Bruno was always getting them into trouble, the Fish was practically waiting for someone to screw up, Ms. Scrimmage and her beloved shot gun often got little too close for comfort. Yet, at the Hall, Boots never felt like he had to become someone else in a Boots shaped box. Even if he wasn't always _comfortable_ at school, he was Boots. At home, he was Melvin.

Dinner lasted for less than an hour, a stark contrast to the long hours that Bruno and Boots could spend talking to each other and their motley crew of friends in dining hall at school. It made him both happy, to get away from the inane conversation, to be able to call his friends. On the other side of the coin, was the fact that he could not connect with his parents. It saddened him, but he had come to terms with that fact time and time again. And, though he was hardly the same person that his parents wanted him to be, he did not hate them, and they did not hate him. Their house was one filled with, though heavy and weighted, a familial love.

Boots' parents had always provided for him, kept him safe and never left him wanting for what he needed. He wondered, if he told them that he had turned down a veritable genius of a girl, because the only constant he could picture in his future was Bruno, and somehow being in a relationship with Diane would ruin that.

Boots needed something to occupy his mind. He couldn't make his own mind stop, so he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, flopping back onto his bed. There were a few notifications, news, several texts from the group chat with all of the Hall boys, a picture sent from Bruno that Boots swiped open. It was a badly photoshopped picture of a lizard, with a mohawk. This was normal fare from Bruno, and Boots had in fact received many pictures of animals with badly photoshopped hair. It had become almost a tradition, anytime that Bruno just wanted to show Boots that he was there. Or, when Bruno just found an image that he found particularly funny.

Boots smiled at his screen. He sent back an image of a normal kitten. This was his side of the tradition, texting like a mom, pretending not to get the joke of the photoshop. He pulled up Diane's contact.

'Can you FaceTime now?' He wrote. He hoped that he didn't sound too brisk, but he didn't know what else to say. Her writing bubble popped up.

'yup!'

The incoming call screen came up, and he answered. Diane's smiling face came up on the screen. Boots may not want to date her, but he couldn't help but smile back at her. She could always make him smile, with her bubbly energy, and her uncontainable ideas. Cathy may have been the Bruno of Scrimmage, but Diane had more going on in her head than anyone else that Boots had ever met.

"How's your first dinner of summer?" Diane asked excitedly. Boots felt his fears about the call dissolve. Of course Diane wouldn't bring up the rather awkward, well Boots wasn't sure what to call it, but Diane would never.

"Well, I had chicken breast and carrots, starred at my ceiling, and exchanged emails with Bruno, so it's been pretty wild. How about you?" Boots asked. Diane huffed out a laugh.

"Well, Cathy almost decapitated my mother when she came into our dorm, my dad welcomed me home with a veritable Rube Goldberg machine, so it was basically a normal day," Cathy smiled.

They talked, for almost two hours. It felt a little bit like being back at the Hall, or more accurately, being back hiding in Cathy and Diane's room at Scrimmage, but without the incessant chatter of their counterparts.

When Diane's father called her, with a request to help him fix something that Boots assumed was machine of their own invention, he felt significantly better. Looking at the clock, he was slightly surprised to see that it was late. His job, if he could call sitting on a tall chair and yelling at little kids a job, started tomorrow. If the Hall had taught him one thing, it had taught him that first impressions matter to adults, so he figured he was better off turning in sooner, rather than later. He was probably going to have to memorize a lot of faces tomorrow, and he didn't really love the idea of being a sleep deprived mess.

He plugged in his phone and texted Bruno a moon emoji, to say goodnight.


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Bruno,

My job starts tomorrow, I'm a bit worried. Obviously, I can swim, and yes, I am a certified life guard. When it comes down to it though, could I really save a kid's life? Who knows. That's not exactly what I'm worried about, though that seems like a fear I should have. It's more to do with the fact that I'm going to be with all of these people, these kids that belong to these parents. Parents that are friends of my parents. This is a such a small town, Bruno. The Hall seems bigger than this place, rumors spread faster here. I know what your probably thinking, (after my amazing future predicting in my last email, I'm going to try to go two for two) 'Boots has nothing rumor worthy about him,' and, slightly embarrassingly, I have to admit it's true. For some reason though, I _feel_ like I do. What have I got to hide? I don't have schemes like you do, I don't have parties and drinks to hide like most of the kids I know here. By all accounts, I should be the kid that's best friends with his parents because of this, but here I am, after another, and another, and another (and, guess what, another) boring dinner with my parents. I feel like, because I live my life like a grandfather, I should have all the right tools to relate to these fifty something year olds who raised me. I'm writing another email to you though.

This though does bring me to my second point. I'm so excited for this job to start! Bruno, no matter what worries I have, I am so excited to speak with someone who doesn't have at least 25 years on me. I would take an hour long conversation about literally anything as long as it was spoken by someone under the age of 20 over a well thought out discussion of the beat generation's impact on the social and moral lives of young Americans. This summer is really making me appreciate the Hall's English department more than I ever thought I could.

I've got no idea what this is going to be like though. All I know about summer camp is from movies like American Pie, or Wet Hot American Summer (Bruno, I wish you could know how much it pained me to type those out). It Canadian summer camp even anything like American summer camp. I feel like a big part of those movies were hinged on the camps being, y'know, American. Also, technically this is a sleep away camp, and I'll be living there, but my parent's house is less than fifteen minutes away. I feel like that sort of ruins the ambiance. No matter what though, I'm beyond excited. What are you doing Bruno? How's the publix? I'm sure they love what ever crazy things you'v been trying to pull. That was sarcasm, but I'm sure you keep it interesting.

Talk to you later,

Boots P. O'Neil

Boots,

Sounds like it's been an eventful week for you. Kidding. Sounds like it sucked. No reason to sugar coat it when you're almost at the end of it. Nothing worse than the completely stiff, unfathomably stilted, cynicism of adults. See, cynicism can be fun y'know. I've started hanging out with these other kids that work at publix. Tracie, Soozy, and Nick. They're all cynics, but instead of just sitting in their houses trying to find purpose in their freezer burned peas, (pardon my over use of cheap food references, it's all I think about) these kids, all they do is have fun. The world sucks, so they figure that they should do what ever they want. God, they're amazing. My name is all over the alleys of this town because of them. I work full time at the publx, long hours y'know, morning, night. it would be so boring, but they all rotate in and out , keeping me company. If it weren't for them, and your texts of course, I think I would go crazy, smiling at all of these people, day in, day out.

Let me tell you about them, so you can have a real picture here. Soozy, she's got this crazy hair. It's all green, bright like one of your fancy shamncy highlighters. Nick and Tracie did it for her. She let them cut it too. She had hair past her waist a month ago. I wish I had hair like that just to cut it all off. Soozy, she's crazy brave, always the first one to try anything. She's gotten us so much free stuff just by talking to people. When you first see her, you figure that she wouldn't be easy to make friends with, but I'v seen her in action. By the end of the night, she's got groupies. Tracie's got the coolest braids, and she puts all of these little clips and things in there. She's black, so it's not cultural appropriation, don't worry. She's the nicest person I've ever met, even with the cynicism. Her approach is to pretty much be nice to everyone cause there's no reason not to do whatever you want to do, and that's what she wants to do. She's such a hippie man, but she only listens to Bratmobile. You should look em up. I bet they'll rock your world. Then there's Nick. He's got a buzzcut and like thirty little tattoos that people have given him. He's kinda like you, always talking and sound so smart. How you guys do it without seeming totally crazy is something that I don't seem to have mastered quiet yet. I was talking to my boss a couple of days ago. I was telling him all about the mechanics of jumping walls and getting through windows but he wasn't impressed. I read Nick that thing you wrote about the Beat generation. He loved it. God, I wish you could come to visit. It's nowhere near as boring here as it sounds over in your part of the woods.

Also, I may miss you just a bit. Schemes aren't quiet as fun when the people pulling them off with you don't share a wavelength.

Your loyal prank partner,

Bruno


	5. Chapter 5

Boots wakes up on the day he is meant to arrive at camp. It feels odd to say that, as a sixteen year old, or maybe it feels odd because he lives only a few minutes away from camp, or because of the fact that Boots is employed. But what else is he going to say? His bags are packed, the trunk he uses for school every year has been filled, swim trunks, and teeshirts, and camera film, all the things that his parents and friends have suggested. He's never been a camp kid before, never gone, but he figure that the Hall must be a lot like a highly academic summer camp. He knows how to change his sheets, do his own laundry. He figures he'll get along fine. Plus, he's got a day and a night off every week. Boots though is willing to bet money that he'll be spending most of those days and nights off at camp, reading or working on the little summer homework the Hall has dished out for the summer.

He's woken up early. His phone is charged, and so is his portable charger. He's not a counselor though, so he doesn't have to stay in the little cabins. All of the people with jobs like his, program staff as he's learned they're called, all live in a big house together. The camp experience, but with modern conveniences.

Boots is driving himself there, his parents get enough of moving him into places with the Hall every year. He isn't due to leave until twelve. It's 8 a.m. and he has no idea what he's going to do for the remaining hours. He boots up his computer and checks his inbox. He emailed Bruno a few days ago, and he's learned to wait a few days for a reply. Right on time, there is an email waiting for him. He performs his normal reading ritual, three times through the quick paragraphs. He can picture Bruno telling him about these new people, the gestures and the dramatic breaths that Bruno would throw in. He can also picture Bruno with all of his new friends. He can imagine, even from the slightly sparse, winded description that Bruno had provided him with, Boots can practically see them, shoving up against Bruno behind a register, wild hair and tattoos lit up by the stark fluorescence of the Publix. He can picture the flush of Bruno's cheeks as he sips down a second or third drink that one of his new friends' friends has passed to him, joking into Nick, Tracie, or Soozy's ears. Making everyone want to be a part of the joke. And Bruno would let him. Boots knows his friend, knows that Bruno's three friends will turn into three friends and a hell of a lot of admirers.

Boots wonders, lying in his bed, staring at the eggshell ceiling, if these bright people will replace him. Nick sounds like a better version of him already, the same sort of mind, but smarter, more confident. Better suited to the energy that Bruno held. It isn't that Boots is particularly lacking in confidence. Well, he is, but not in this. Boots _knows_ Bruno. He knows that Bruno is not the type of person to replace anyone. He is not like that, his mind probably wouldn't even be able to wrap around the idea of replacing a person with another. Boots just worries, worries that these new people will capture more and more of Bruno's attention. And Boots will capture less and less. God, he wishes that he was there with Bruno. A part of that is a selfish need to assert his place in Bruno's life, but another part, maybe a larger part has to do with the picture that Bruno has painted for him. These warm cynics, these people who could laugh at his jokes. That's all he's ever wanted.

Camp, Boots guesses may not be the place for this. Of course, he could always be wrong, but he wonders, where he could even fit a discussion about the things he loves in with the people that his parents are so excited for him to work with.

Boots' mind is overly entrenched with literary references, and God, are there a lot of those for summer. There is The Virgin Suicides summer, a film of wet heat, the constant buzz of cicadas, and the uncomfortable mystery of an unattainable crush. There's the opulence of the Gatsby summer, the richness of young people, figuratively and literally. There were the summers of teen romance novels, sugary sweet as the ice cream that the characters would pass around. There were the summers of mystery novels, rich woman murdered, beaches shaken. There were the summers of suburbia, like the one the Bruno was living. The scummy love of teenagers, friendships, makeouts on other people's beds. Loud music and unstoppable smiles.

Boots doesn't have a book to fall back on for camp. Camp, he is quickly realizing is entirely foreign to him, and he is very nervous. Boots rolls over and grabs his phone.

"Bruno, it is 8:23 a.m. and I'm worried that I've made a mistake," Is the first thing that tumbles out of Boots' mouth.

"Boots, my main man, I need a bit more information, but I can promise you, more times than not, you are not the one that's made the mistake. That's usually me, but I must admit that I am enjoying this role reversal," Bruno laughs in to the phone, and Boots feels his chest loosen up. He roles over, onto his back.

"God Bruno, have you ever noticed that there aren't any books about summer camp in Canada? I leave at twelve, and I'm lying in my bed thinking about how there aren't any books about summer camp set in Canada."

"Well Boots, you certainly knew how to make a man feel better about the time he's spent deciding whether or not to put on eyeliner for a Publix shift," Bruno says. For a moment, a picture of Bruno, in his eyeliner and Publix uniform flash into his mind.

"And why would you feel as pathetic as I do about that?" Boots asks, laughing to shake the image out of his head.

"Boots, Boots, Boots. So what has gotten you up this fine morning?" Bruno asks.

"Bruno, I thought I made it very clear. There are no books about summer camp in Canada and I will be going to summer camp in Canada in less than five hours," Boots says, unfortunately brought back to the stark reality of where he'll be in about four and a half hours.

"Boots, you do not need a book for this one. Now, I'm sure you read every goddam book about boarding school before you started at the Hall, am I right?" Bruno hardly pauses for Boots' answer. "So, you came into the Hall thinking you knew it all, right? Now, how much of the Hall is like those books that you read?" This time Bruno stops.

"Well, the Hall is pretty much nothing like anything I've ever read about, but what's the chance of that happening again? I mean, the Hall is one in a million,"

"The Hall may be pretty...unique, but it's not the Hall it's self. It's the people, Boots, and guess who is one of those people? You, Boots P. O'Neil," Bruno sounds triumphant as he says this, his breath slowly evening out. Bruno has always spoken quickly, but Boots has always felt that the speed of Bruno's words were necessary. It was rare that Bruno said something that didn't matter to Boots.

"Bruno, I am one person and I really doubt I am the one person that makes the Hall what it is," Boots says, but Bruno's words have already made him slightly calmer. He no longer feels panicked at the mere idea of his home for the summer.

"Boots, you do..." Bruno pauses her and takes a breath. He starts again abruptly. "Y'know what, they're gonna love you at your camp and I bet you're gonna save some kid's life and then they'll all love you and you'll be a camp legend!" Bruno bursts out. Boots wants to ask what he was going to say in the first place.

"Shit, my shift starts five minutes ago, I need to run," Bruno says.

"Miss you already," Boots laughs into the phone.

"Send my letters," Bruno replies. The line goes dead and Boots lies in his bed for another half hour. He forces himself out of bed around 9:30. His parents are out on a run. There is something lovely about his house being entirely empty. The light seems different, filtered through a still silence. Boots drinks a glass of water slowly, standing at his kitchen sink. He is unsure, of many things, but Bruno's phone call has steeled something in him. He feels more upright, somehow. He grabs a yogurt out of the fridge, banana the only yogurt flavor he can stand and eats at the table trying to clear his mind. He may not know much about camp, but he figures that he isn't going to have a moment of peace for the next six weeks.


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Bruno,

Here goes my first letter. I can have my phone at camp, but it's sort of an unspoken rule that we're meant to use them as little as possible.

It's been a good three days here at Camp Willapasu. Staff training so far has been a whirlwind, and I am pretty sure that our camp director, Elliot, is on the verge of a break down. Yesterday, I saw him drive a golf cart into the woods, and he didn't come back for an hour. The kids are arriving in two days, but it already feels like I'm at camp. I think you would like it here. In the spirit of your last emails, I have decided to give you a run down of some of the _characters_ that are here with me.

1\. Angie, the director of the oldest girls' village. She only wears floral prints. We are in the wilderness here, and she will just be wearing a floor length dress. I have attempted to ask her why, but she has a given me a different answer every time. She's lovely though, and she has a beautiful voice.

2\. Tristan, a younger boys' counselor. He works at a kindergarten back home, and he has hundreds of horror stories about little kids. During the day, he's one of the calmest people I know, you would I have no idea what to do with him, but as soon as he gets tired he goes crazy. Two nights ago, we had a camp fire after a long day of swim training for the counselors. I swear, I was convinced that he was going to jump into the fire, just to prove he could.

3\. Jason, the head of the water front. Jason is sort of an asshole. We have a running competition, because we're two head guards. Jason likes to act like I'm a 'cocky young upstart,' his words not mine. He's funny though, and its like he knows exactly when and what to say. It's hard to tell with him, cause half of the time, he'll be messing up my hair, or pushing me into the lake, but sometimes, he'll say something that's just perfect. I don't know how to explain it, I just never leave a conversation with him feeling bad, even if he's been a total dick for the past 20 minutes. It's like he's trying to convince everyone that he's just an airhead jock, but you and I both know that very few people fit that archetype (even Wilbur has his other interests, and he's too sweet). I think you guys would fight if you met, but you're actually pretty similar. (Not that I think you're a jock, (unless skateboarding counts)).

Those are just a few, but my hand is cramping, it's late, and I'm writing this with my flashlight and I don't want to run the battery out already.

So, how are you? Publix and the nihilists are still keeping you occupied?

Yours truly,

Boots

* * *

Boot, my dearest friend,

Sounds like you are working alongside the best and the brightest. I'm not sure that I there would be enough room for me, alongside all of those big personalities. Things are same old, same old over here. Just hanging around, working late, having old ladies flirt with me while I ring them up. My merry band of punk rockers is doing well. Nick is going to drive us to a local hardcore show, which I've been getting excited about all week. It's this band that does a bunch of covers of Pansy Division songs. I don't know if you'd like them, the band we're going to see or Pansy Division, they might be a bit too wild for you. Nick really likes them though, and so do Tracie and Soozy. They've got a good sound, and their lyrics are pretty funny. It's been a while since I've been anywhere near a mosh pit that wasn't just guys from the Hall running away from some scene I've caused.

It kinda feels like we're living in two different worlds y'know?

You're like a shiny outdoorsman. An all around perfect guy–working with kids, swimming in the hot Canadian sun, talking to other perfect kids around the fire. Here I am, yelling in parking lots in the middle of the night, running in and out of the house, skinning my knees at my skate park. Whatever. I'm glad you like it. Sounds like you've really hit it off with this Jason guy. I feel like you've talked about a Jason from home before. Middle school icon or something? If this is the same guy, I'm glad you've finally had your tearful reunion. If Jason is a jock hiding his real personality, maybe he'll get you and you can have deep talks about how your parents don't understand and how your grades and extracurriculars are perfect but they can never make you happy. It sounds like the perfect job for you.

Bruno


	7. Chapter 7

Bruno's letter left a bad taste in Boots' mouth. It wasn't often that Boots couldn't tell exactly what what Bruno was thinking, even when they weren't together. The feeling reminded him of a day in September when he had accidentally left his watch at home. He kept looking at his wrist, expecting it to be there. He had been stressed out all day.

Working at Willapasu left him very little free time to dwell on the issue, though. It was much harder work than he had excepted, and far more tiring. Boots had spent most of his previous summers running, swimming, and being generally active, but there was something about being around kids for a good 13 hours a day that knocked him out as soon as his head hit his lumpy pillow every night. Working at a camp was an... adjustment. In some ways, it was like the Hall. He was around kids or people his own age. There probably wasn't anyone at Willapasu older than 30. On the other hand, every moment felt like a teaching moment when he was surrounded by middle schoolers. No curse, no inappropriate jokes, no wild stories. Near constant enthusiasm. It wasn't actually bad though. Boots found that he loved the kids, especially the middle age group. He'd been surprised when some of the things they said had managed to make him genuinely laugh.

When he did get to talk to people his age, it was wonderful, but endlessly confusing. In some ways it was like the hall. Boots still had that slight uneasiness about speaking to people his age, but he was getting close to the other counselors and he was starting to feel like he was on the same... wavelength as them. Wavelength was phrase more Bruno than it ever would be Boots. That was a way that camp was nothing like the Hall. There was no Bruno and Boots here, only Boots with Bruno's anger hanging over his head. But, Boots was trying not to concentrate on that. Which was a near impossibility, something that Boots was perfectly aware of, but he figured it was worth a try. And, he needed to focus on his job.

He was currently watching over the lake during morning free swim. His face was burning, but he couldn't tell if it was from the sun or from his residual... blush. He and Jason had spent the earlier half of the morning joking around. After breakfast, they have about an hour to set up the waterfront every morning. This morning, Jason had been particularly... Boots didn't know how to describe it. Jason was usually a friendly guy, always swinging an arm around Boots or pressing his hand to Boots' head. Today, he'd offered to help Boots with his sunscreen.

"Lemme get your back?" Jason had said, something between a smile and a smirk on his lips. Boots had nodded, not thinking anything of it. As soon as Jason's hands were on his skin though, he couldn't keep still. It had taken barely a minute before his cheeks were burning and the rest of his body was dangerously close to turning the same red shade he knew his face was. Jason couldn't see his face, but as soon as the blush spread down to his back, the same back that Jason was currently rubbing sunscreen on, Boots knew that the gig would be up. He wasn't't exactly sure what the gig was, or why he was even blushing so much. It felt like his mind wasn't working at full capacity. Even with his diminished capacity though, he knew that he needed to do something to stop Jason from seeing the flush that was slowly creeping across his body.

"I forgot my water bottle in the dining hall!" Boots had exclaimed, suddenly standing up. He felt Jason's hands sliding down his back, which only made the blush worse.

"I'll see you in a bit," Boots heard the older boy call after him. He tried to calm his walking to a normal speed, the speed that someone who had just left their water bottle in the dining hall would walk at, not the speed that someone who was furiously hiding a blush that they didn't understand would walk at.

Unfortunately, Boots was the second of the two options and his water bottle was no where near the dining hall.

By the time that Boots got back to the water front, it was almost time for free swim. He'd gone all the way back to his bunk to get another water bottle to save the small shred of dignity that he had maintained. Actually, Boots thought that he probably hadn't maintained any dignity at all, but he had to do something to make him feel better about his self. His self confidence was already lacking.

He hadn't had time to put on any more sunscreen, hence his current situation. Jason had already been out on the dock when Boots had gotten back, so he had climbed the ladder up the to his place at the top of the guard tower. He could get down from the guard tower, but Jason was walking around on the deck, near the sunscreen that Boots so desperately needed, talking to the kids and just generally being better at their job than Boots was. He wished he hadn't made the day so awkward. That seemed to be his specialty. At school, it always felt like Bruno was the person that made friends, started conversation (or riots), and just generally filled a room. Here at camp, he was always with another few counselors, so he never needed to lead the conversation.

Jason was one of the people he was always around at camp though, and now he had managed to make the other boy avoid him. Boots could be jumping to conclusions. Maybe Jason didn't care at all and he was just focusing on guarding. Or maybe Boots had made him uncomfortable with his awkwardness. Boots was spiraling as he started out over the water of the lake. He couldn't help but glance back to Jason. His tan made his skin look warm. He looked like he belonged on the dock, standing over the lake, glowing under the summer sun.

Boots registered that Jason was turning his way a second too late. Boots could feel the blush rising back to his cheeks.

Jason sent a small smile to him. The loud cheers of children jumping into the lake, the uncomfortable heat of the sun, everything around Boots faded away as he focused on the upturn of Jason's mouth. His teeth looked so white.

Boots wished that he could talk to Bruno about this.


	8. Chapter 8

BOOots!

You r really the best man! Wish you were here with me though :(. I dont care that you wouldnt have likedd the band or that youre way to not punk, I wanna dacne with you! You should try havibg fun more so I dont have to dance with randm guysss

* * *

Boots receives this email at approximately 1:03 a.m. and he is not at all sure how to respond. He is sitting at a staff only campfire, long after most of the kids have gone to bed when he gets Bruno's message, so he can't exactly tell his friend to go to sleep. He is also guessing that Bruno is drunk. Something about that makes his stomach clench and turn. It's not that he has a problem with drinking, he thinks. He would describe his stance on the issue as ambivalence. It's just that Boots has never seen Bruno drunk before. He must be making a face, because Jason's face is suddenly very close to his.

"Hey, what's up?" Jason's voice is soft and it makes Boots shiver. The concern on Jason's face is highlighted by the light from Boot's phone.

"Uhh, nothing, just a friend from home," Boots tries to make his voice even, but it doesn't seem to work because Jason is standing up and pulling Boots with him.

"Boots and I have to make a few plans for the carnival on Sunday, so we're gonna head to my bunk. Give me a ring if you need us!," Jason calls back to their group as he tugs Boots in the direction of the cabins. Boots feels like Jason's hand is burning into his wrist. It is true that the water front is playing a pretty big role in Sunday's carnival, but he and Jason had had everything planned out for a week.

"Jason–"

"Boots, man, you don't look like 'nothing' just popped up on your phone," Jason sounds so wonderfully sincere that Boots cannot help but want to talk to him. They've reached the building that Jason and Boots stay in. Jason opens the door quietly, despite the fact that most people who live in their cabin are out at the camp fire they just came from. Jason's hand is still wrapped around his wrist, loosely, and he uses it to lead Boots to his room. The first thing that Boots notices is that Jason doesn't have a bunk bed. Boots does. The next thing he notices is how cozy Jason's room looks. Jason guides him to a bed, Jason's bed, Boots thinks. It's pushed into the corner of the room, with a tapestry hanging above it. It's almost like a blanket fort. Boots feels warm. Jason settles on the bed next to him and looks at him expectantly.

"Your room is really nice," Boots says. He knows it's not what they're here for, but he doesn't know if he can handle what will come out of his mouth if he starts talking. Jason laughs.

"Boots–"

"I know, I know, I just don't really know where to start and flattery seemed pretty safe," Boots says, hoping to get another laugh out of Jason. He does.

"So, you don't really like my room?" Jason says.

"No, no! It's awesome," Boots says. The both of them are laughing now and, if Boots felt warm before, he is positively burning.

"You've had enough fun," Jason says, but he's doesn't sound accusing.

"I wasn't lying when I said it was a friend from home. Or, school. He's my roommate and probably my favorite person in the world," Boots tells him. "I think he's mad that I'm here, but I don't really know why," Boots already feels like he's sharing too much, but he doesn't know what else to say.

Jason nods. "Maybe he just misses you?"

Boots is going to say 'Yes, you're totally right, I bet that's it,' and then excuse himself, but those are not the words that come out of his mouth. "I don't know. We spend every summer apart. He's usually totally fine with it. Plus, he's got a big family and tons of friends from home, but it's like he's mad at me for not spending the whole summer thinking about him," is what Boots says instead. He sees something in Jason's face shift.

"I think he's jealous," Jason says, humor in his voice.

"That doesn't make any sense," Boots says. "He's clearly drunk and he and his friends go do fun stuff all the time. No offense, but kids camp life guard isn't exactly much to be jealous of."

"I don't think he's jealous of the job. I think he's jealous of me. Well, maybe not me exactly," Jason says. It should sound conceited, but Boots doesn't read any of that in Jason's voice.

Before Boots can respond, Jason is speaking again. "I think you just need to get your mind off of it and let your friend figure some stuff out."

Jason smiles and leans over Boots to reach into a plastic draw perched on a shelf next to his bed. He pulls out a chocolate tin. As soon as Jason opens it, Boots realizes it's not chocolate.

* * *

Boots is laughing way to hard at Jason's dumb joke about... he can't quite put his finger on what the joke was about, but it wasn't funny. Or maybe it was. Boots doesn't care. Jason is also laughing, his skin warm against Boots'. So what if Bruno is drunk, Boots is high and he can't say he doesn't like it. He doesn't think his heart has ever beaten as fast as it had when he realized that it was weed, not chocolate, in Jason's tin. All of the things that he and Bruno had done at the Hall that had stressed him out seemed so low risk compared to this. At the Hall, the only consequences that Boots had had to fear where stern talking to's and occasional detentions. Weed might be legal, but not for a few sixteen year olds, and smoking up is definitely against the rules of working at a kids' camp. If someone walked in, he could be fired. He wouldn't be able to hide something like that from his parents. Yet, Boots trusted Jason. He wasn't really sure why, but being with him had a similar feeling to being with Bruno. It was less intense, and he doesn't think he would be able to articulate it in the same way he could with Bruno, but he feels like nothing bad is going to talk to him.

Maybe that's just the weed talking, or the way his stomach twists when he thinks about the email on his phone, but Boots feels _so good_. Jason taps him on the shoulder and he looks down to the other boy's outstretched hand. As he takes the blunt that Jason is offering him, he thinks that maybe everyone is right and he just needs to calm down a bit.

* * *

A/N: I myself work at a summer camp and can promise that the situation in this chapter is pretty feasible.


	9. Chapter 9

Boots wakes up in Jason's bed. He does not have a the classic 'where am I moment' but he does have a mini freak out. Melvin P. O'Neal does not get high. Melvin P. O'Neal does not wake up in another guy's bed. Melvin P. O'Neal does not do anything that Boots has been doing all summer. And all of his fears, insecurities, and existential crisis thoughts seem to be coming to a head at 5:30 a.m. in Jason's bed. This may not just be a mini freak out. This is a full on, epic proportions, freak out. He needs to not be in Jason's bed right now. Even if Jason is surprisingly nice and gives good advice. And he's really warm. Boots would know. His head is currently resting on Jason's chest. He needs to move and he needs to do it now. But.

Half bleary, half panicked, Boots manages to pull himself out of Jason's bed. His backpack from last night is resting against Jason's bed. He pulls out his note book and scribbles a fast note.

'Going for my run. Thanks for the distraction.

-Boots'

He slips out of Jason's room, treading lightly to avoid waking any of the other inhabitants of the room. He gently closes the door in his wake, feeling odly like he is doing a walk of shame.

By the time Boots has changed into his typical plain t-shirt and athletic shorts, it's 5:39, around when Boots usually takes a run. So he decides to do just that. He's always been a fan of routine, and as a man of habit, it wouldn't feel right to skip it. Boots promises himself that he will put his freak out on hold until he completes his run but it's so fucking hard to put it out of his mind when he feels like he can't breath. Belatedly, Boots notices that he is hyperventilating. He runs faster. He wants to run faster than any of the things eating at him, but it's hard. He blames the fact that he can't catch his breath. It feels like he's stuck in an endless feedback loop. If he could just run faster, he wouldn't be freaking out so much but he can't run faster when he's freaking out this much.

Boots trips, on one of the hundreds of roots that decorate the path around him. He falls hard onto his hands, but the burn of the tiny pebbles digging into his palms grounds him.

He checks his watch. 6:15. He's been running for a while now, but he has no memory of the individual minutes. Boots doesn't bother to get off the ground, but he shifts into a more comfortable position, wrapping his arms around his legs, shielding himself. As he catches his breath, he looks around him. His mind is empty, but not in a comfortable way. In a way where it feels like his thoughts have been stolen from him. He feels empty and numb and like he will never be able to form a real thought again. He's starting to hyperventilate again. He tries to distract himself. He runs around the lake every morning, so the view is objectively lovely. The sky is still pretty dark, the gray of it reflecting in the water of the lake. The light is sharp and clean. This is Boots' favorite time of the day. At the hall, he's basically the only person up this early, swimming, running, or reading. It's _his_ time. Right now, he feels like it is being stolen from him. Stolen by thoughts about Jason.

Boots thinks about when they were kids. He thinks about how he thought Jason was the coolest person in the world. He thinks about how his face would feel like it was on fire every time his mom would mention Jason. He thinks about how his stomach used to clench up when ever Jason would talk to him. He thinks about the way he felt when Jason would call him by his name. He remembers being shocked that the older boy even knew it.

He thinks about the way Jason looks with smoke curling out of his lips. He thinks about the fact that his face still burns when Jason claps him on the back. He thinks about how, if one of them were a girl, the way he and Jason interacts would definitely qualify as flirting.

He thinks about every moment in which he has felt out of place, in locker rooms and other sport themed events, where the conversation steers towards girls or the times he has wondered if he's looking at other guys and then wonders why that would even be an issue because it's not like other guys are keeping their eyes to the floor but somehow...

He thinks about how he's never even thought about dating. His friends poke fun at him for it, teasing him for being so behind them in terms of this, it's just never held any interest for him. Maybe it has been how busy he is–with sports and school and Bruno-or maybe it's because he's never be able to conceptualize the type of dating that he might actually want to do. Maybe it's because his brain has dropped a big, black, censor mark over the idea of dating guys.

Now, he's trying to force the black censor mark to fade. Boots tries to imagine going on a date. He's done it before, when his friends talk about wanting girlfriends and he had a lot of practice at the end of the school year after he and Diane kissed. Now though, he puts Jason in the place of a faceless girl. His face instantly heats up. He thinks about going to a movie with Jason, sharing popcorn, gross stale candy, and huge soft drinks. He thinks about Jason leaning into him to whisper slightly rude comments about the movie into his ear. He thinks about holding Jason's hand, about meeting his friends and being introduced as his boyfriend. Boots has never blushed harder. He tucks his head down, squeezing it between his legs, as if that could make the heat anxiety/excitement that is currently turning his stomach. But, it's like the floodgates have been opened. The images won't leave Boot's mind.

He feels like his brain is overloading, after years of never even considering dating another person. His thoughts return to last night. He thinks about smoking with Jason again, about being aloud to stare as the smoke poured out from between Jason's lips.

Boots wants to sob.

He needs to talk to someone, but the person he has talked to most this summer is Jason, obviously not an option, and currently asleep in the bed that Boots was recently in. Usually, Boots talks about big, life changing stuff with Bruno. Bruno who is currently sad-mad at him. Bruno who is his best friend in the world and, oh god, he's going to have to tell Bruno about this. Or he could hide it forever.

Diane. Diane who he has never in his life deserved. Boots yanks his phone out of his picket fumbling with overly large pockets of his nylon shorts.

 _6:20_

I think I like boys

 _6:22 Diane_

can i call you?

 _6:23_

Yeah, but it's going to be blurry because the cell service isn't that good here

Diane's face loads his screen, her hair in a messy bun. Boots can tell, from her lack of punctuation and the dark circles, that Diane hasn't gone to sleep all night. Stuff like that leaves Boots in a nearly comatose state, but Diane can just keep going. Boots doesn't know how she does it. He smiles fondly at her.

"Boots O'Neal, you sure know how to give a girl a shock," Diane says. Boots manages to huff out a relieved laugh. Trust Diane to instantly make him feel better.

"Lay it on me, Boots," Diane says.

"Uhm... I don't really know where to start, but there's this guy Jason at my job..." With that, everything comes pouring out of him.

"It's not you, I mean, if I was going to date a girl, you would totally be the one for me, but I just can't picture being with you like that. Not YOU you, like the royal you..." Boots trails off and fails to finish sentences, stumbling over words and blushing at memories, but Diane sits through it all, laugh gently and just generally soothing Boots.

"Who have you told?" Diane asks him. The sun is starting to rise as Boots sighs.

"You."

"Me!? I'm the first person you've told?" This is the first time that Diane has raised her voice throughout their entire call.

"I kinda just figured this out. Like, minutes ago," Boots tells her, scratching the back of his head self consciously.

"Right. Right. So, are you going to do anything about it?" While Boots and Diane are no where near as reckless as their respective best friends, Diane tends a lot more towards action than Boots does.

"I'm honestly not sure. I've gone from never having stuff like this really cross my mind to having a full blown crush on someone," Boots says, his face glowing red with the newness of the idea. Diane looks like she has more to say, but Boots watches as she takes a deep breath. He feels the fond smile reemerge on his face as Diane yawns.

"Go to sleep Diane," Boots says. The girl mock glares at him, but when Boots raises his eyebrow in his best impression of a disappointed parent, Diane cracks a smile.

"Ok. Love you, Boots," Diane says, laughing lightly as she rubs at her eyes and moves to end the call.

"Thank you," Boots manages to blurt out. Before she hangs up on him, Diane shoots Boots a tired smile.

Boots looks at his blank phone screen for a moment before heaving himself up from his spot. His ass is sore and his back cracks as he stretches, but he feels amazing. He doubts that it will last and he's still shaking from the morning's events, but, even as his hands wobble, he feels calm.


End file.
